If It Makes You Happy
by petrelli heiress
Summary: Peter/Sylar. One-shot. Sex complicates things. No, love does. Sex makes everything better. No, love does. And if it makes you happy...


**If It Makes You Happy**

**Author's Note: Well...so I had a Fit of Inspiration while waiting for something to download. And this is what came of it. Hope you enjoy. Oh, and maybe I should say - Peter/Sylar, one-shot, slash, don't like, don't read - before I forget. There, done :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. I know, it shocked me too when I found out.**

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Sex made everything better.

_Pounding, heart...pounding, the bedpost into the wall..._

Sex made everything blur around the edges, made everything bearable.

At least that's what he thought as he felt Peter's hair graze his neck, became aware of the murmured words breathed against his far too sensitive skin. He had to concentrate – _really _concentrate – before he could distinguish the words beyond the haze of delightful ecstasy he was experiencing.

"...better...is it better..." Peter was murmuring and it took every ounce of strength left in him not to just scream his answer to the world and come in a burst of white noise and dark light. He had to wait because...because...

He blinked hair out of his eyes and felt his mind beginning to fall back into that mind numbing haze.

Sex made everything better, and he just wanted to forget.

"Yes," he murmured just as softly back. "Always...you always...make it go away...you..."

...and then Peter was thrusting, harder and deeper, and that control he'd had just moments ago had been merely an illusion because _oh..._

Sex made everything better, he thought, grinning happily.

***

Sex made everything numb, bearable.

He gazed at Sylar, lying on his stomach, head buried in a pillow. His fingers ran along his spine, pressing harder at certain intervals just because he could. He hated himself for grinning at the other's rumble of pleasure as he did so.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. This shouldn't be the way to control the hunger, replace it with another far more compelling one.

Sex complicated things. Or rather sex numbed things. It was what happened _afterwards _that made everything so complicated. If only he could be the kind of guy who could be satisfied with sex, nothing more. His life would be so simple then.

Because sex made everything numb. Made him _forget _what he was doing and just...live. And when he eventually made his way out of the sex-induced haze covering his entire consciousness he felt disgusted with himself and that disgust only rose more when he realised _he didn't care. _

Sylar was gazing at him now, chin tucked behind his elbow, his gaze as inscrutable as ever. "What are you thinking?" the man asked suddenly.

He blinked, surprised, and couldn't keep the corner of his mouth from twitching up into a crooked smile. Well, they do say great minds think alike...

He laughed softly and moved closer. "I was thinking about how beautiful you are," he said and realised belatedly that part of him _had _been thinking exactly that.

Sylar looked uncommonly pleased but tried to hide it by pushing his shoulder gently. "Liar," he said and then couldn't continue because Peter had grasped his hand and was entwining their fingers, an expression of such concentration on his face as though he might make a mistake if he didn't give his all to the action.

Whenever he was around, Peter couldn't concentrate. Everything else just blurred, it felt so _good _and he just wanted to give _in..._

He was definitely going to hell. Because sex made everything bearable and what happened afterwards made him forget that.

The world was a horrible place, too bright, with too many responsibilities, and this was the only thing that felt real. Which obviously meant it was an illusion because nothing real could ever taste, feel, smell this _good_, this _right._

"You didn't answer my question," Sylar mumbled, his gaze turning upwards to fix itself on Peter's face, looking slightly put out that he'd been so easily distracted. "Tell me the truth, this time."

"Mmm," Peter said, non-committal. And then the words were pouring out of him because, really, he had always been an idiot and these words, rushed and hasty and far too _real, _simply confirmed his suspicions.

"I think I might be falling in love with you."

Barely breathing, his heart beating an erratic rhythm in his chest, he waited for Sylar to say something, anything, even if it was to tell him to leave. Because the latter at least would confirm, totally and without doubt, that he was an insane idiot who should probably be locked up in some mental institution. Like, right now.

Sylar was silent. His gaze had strayed back to their entwined fingers but now it was again fixed firmly on Peter's face, his dark eyes penetrating and still far too inscrutable. "That wasn't what you were thinking either," he said mildly, his fingers clutching Peter's before relaxing into the grip.

Peter smiled. Okay, so obviously his insane declaration wasn't _too _serious. "It was close though."

He wanted to tell Sylar what he was thinking. He wanted to say, "What we do disgusts me, but it makes me forget everything else and that numbness is the only reason I keep coming back for more." He wanted to say, "This hunger excuse we have is pathetic. I'm leaving and I'm never coming back."

Such pathetic, utterly moronic _lies. _

"You know," Peter said, his free hand pushing Sylar's hair to the side, fingers gliding through the silky strands unbidden. "I don't think I'm falling in love with you." He tried to pretend he imagined that flicker of disappointment in the other's suddenly far too readable features. "I think I've been in love with you for awhile now."

There was a beat of silence, in which he felt the air crackle with energy, and then Sylar's lips were crushing themselves against his own, his tongue thrusting inside Peter's all too willing mouth, his breath exhilaratingly hot and _oh..._

"Sex makes everything better," Sylar murmured when they finally broke apart, mouths deliciously numb and tingling from prolonged contact.

Peter, using Sylar's shoulder as a makeshift pillow, sighed softly and relaxed. "No," he said simply, "Love does."

"So, this is love," Sylar mumbled and Peter had to concentrate extremely hard in controlling himself as the sound vibrated into the half of his body pressed into the other man.

"I guess so," Peter replied since speaking seemed to help him ignore certain responses his body seemed incapable of restraining.

"Hmm..." the other man murmured, Peter stifling a soft moan as he did. "S'nice." He laughed as Peter, this time unsuccessfully, tried to smother another moan.

Peter moved back and away so he could frown down at him. "Stop it."

Sylar grinned. "Or what?" His hand slid up Peter's thigh and he watched, fascinated, as Peter's eyelids fluttered closed, and then open again, in his effort to control himself because Sylar's hands were so _rough, _the friction so _pleasant_, and _oh..._

Love made everything better.

Definitely.

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